The War to End All Wars
by hashtagUSII
Summary: High School!WWI AU: You will be taken on a trip through time, back to the late 19th century/early 20th century. While this tale follows actual historical events relatively closely, it is told from a modern perspective and there is some warping of the actual timeline. If you like football, history, or young love, read-on!
1. Chapter 1: The Franco-Prussian War

"Red. Set."

Otto looked left down the offensive line one last time, checking that everyone was in place, ready to block for him. He had called a fairly straight forward run, one of his personal favorites. He knew the Francis Frog Legs had a new linebacker, Napoleon Jr. His father, Napoleon Sr. had been a legendary quarterback at Francis High and coached the team currently, but unfortunately his son was not nearly as talented as his father. He lacked the mental and physical strength you needed for football in Otto's opinion, but he still maintained the arrogance of a talented player. Back when his father was playing, the game would have been much tougher. Otto would have been concerned. A play this simple would not have gained him any yardage against Napoleon the Great. However, Napoleon Sr.'s reign was over, and Otto knew Junior was not going to be the next legend. That title belonged to him.

"Hut."

The two lines of young men sprung into action, the sound of colliding, padded bodies filling the air as Otto's call left his mouth. His center faked the hike back to him, and Otto dutifully pretended to run the ball to the right. The Frog Legs were completely duped, and a hefty linebacker charged forward to tackle the red herring. As he landed heavily on the ground beneath the hulk-sized boy, he heard elated screams erupt from the crowd. The linebacker rolled off of him, and Otto stood, looking down the field just in time to see his center complete the 40 yard touchdown. Otto chuckled to himself. If games were going to be this easy, he could take the G. Ermany Rhinos all the way to States this year.

* * *

"63-0."

Otto stood on a bench in the locker room, addressing his team post-game. This was generally the captains job, but Wilhelm usually just let Otto do it. He was better at it anyway. The rest of the team stood in a circle around their quarterback, some with their uniforms half off, and most looking pretty energized. It had not been a physically taxing game for the hardened athletes of G. Ermany Lutheran Prep.

"We crushed them 63-0 on their own field. You men should be incredibly proud of yourselves. Not only did we prove to them that their past success is not indicative of their current talent, we showed them that the Rhinos mean business." Cheers echoed throughout the tiny locker room. Otto continued, getting more animated with every word.

"If we continue to dominate our league like this, the administration at G. Ermany will be practically throwing money at us. In order to make it to the State Championships, we have to want it. We can't be timid on the field and we can't be timid in practice. We can't even be timid off the field if we want to be champions. We have to be aggressive in every aspect of our lives, and only then will our collective aggression make us undefeatable. You should all leave the field with the other teams _blood_ smeared on your uniforms." Otto gestured to his own uniform, which was in fact marked with several red smears. "Let the gray in your jerseys represent your iron-hard will to win, to incinerate the competition. And let our enemies _blood_ be shed during each game we play." Otto was full on shouting at this point, and his teammates, feeding off of his vibe, were practically bouncing in excitement. "**_It is by this philosophy of blood and iron that the Rhinos will be the state champions this year, and every year after!_**"

At this point, the boys went wild. Somebody started a chant of "blood and iron" and Otto was affectionately buried under a pile of grimy, padded bodies. Eventually, the cheering lost its momentum, and someone grabbed Otto's hand to help him up. The grip was firm, but gentle.


	2. Chapter 2: German Unification

"Dude, that was your best pep talk yet."

Otto grinned and accepted the compliment as Wilhelm effortlessly yanked him to his feet.

"Yeah it probably was. Hopefully that adrenaline boost will carry us through the season."

Wilhelm nodded and the boys left the locker room, heading towards the parking lot. Their arms brushed against each other as they walked, but neither of them really cared enough to move.

Wilhelm and Otto had been best friends since football tryouts freshman year. Wilhelm was a descendent of long line of football players, and had a natural athletic physique. He toed the line between muscular and chubby, but he was tall and powerful. Although his size was daunting, he had a baby face, with only a light wisp of blond hairs on his chin. Otto, in contrast, was of average height, relatively lean, and had to shave his light brown stubble twice a week. He compensated for his lack of overwhelming physical strength with a phenomenal understanding of the game. He knew all the plays, and when it was best to use them. During football tryouts, their skills sets had distinguished the two boys as highly proficient players, and as the only freshmen moved to varsity, they had quickly bonded. After a few seasons had passed by, Wilhelm, with the best stats on the team, was appointed captain. However, the success of the Rhinos was primarily due to Otto's tactical skills, and the team, understanding this, deferred to him as their leader too. The boys had developed an unspoken agreement to never leave the other behind, neither socially nor academically. They led the football team together, spent their free time together, and studied together. They even went to the same barbershop to get the same haircut every other Sunday - buzzed on the sides, longer on the top. They called it the "bud-cut".

The boys walked to the parking lot in a comfortable silence. Wilhelm knew that Otto liked to reflect on the game for a bit after it ended, so he gave him space to think, focusing instead on the sound of their cleats on the concrete. They were walking out of synch, so Wilhelm adjusted his stride so that the dull clacking of their metal spikes matched up. Even though it was just the two of them, it sounded like a small army. Cleats were funny that way. Wilhelm smirked softly at his feet, amused with the sound of his shoes. His eyes flit up to Otto's face, checking to see if he was still thinking. Instead, he found Otto staring back at him, with a smirk to match his own. Wilhelm felt a strange warmth in his chest, and quickly broke eye contact. That was probably just heartburn from last nights Chipotle.

As the boys entered the first row of cars, two men walked out of a parked yellow school bus in the distance, and started walking towards them. They were still too far for their faces to be identifiable, but the stout figure in the black cap called out to them.

"Otto! Wilhelm! Are you going on the bus?" Wilhelm recognized the obnoxiously loud voice of their coach, George Hungary.

"Nah, Will drove, so I'm gonna go with him," Otto shouted back.

"Alright, well can you guys still come here really quick?" Coach Hungary yelled back. He and his tall thin companion stopped where they were, waiting for the boys to come to them. Otto and Wilhelm both sighed loudly, but still walked over. As they approached, they recognized the signature bald head and goatee of their principal, Arnold Austria. Otto's brow furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. Wilhelm felt his own body tense up immediately, and he had cross his arms over his broad chest in order to conceal his hands, which had clenched into fists.

The football team and Principal Austria had been in contention since he got hired at G. Ermany Prep, back when Napoleon Sr. was still in high school. Principal Austria was formerly employed at Francis High, the neighboring rival high school. When he came to G. Ermany, the student body did not trust him, suspecting he harbored sympathies for his former employers. Within the first month of his appointment, to no ones surprise, he drastically cut funding for the sports programs, especially the football team. They were no longer able to play in the same competitive league they had played in before, and the Frog Legs went decades nearly undefeated. Principal Austria's thick goatee had turned entirely gray years ago, but Wilhelm believed he had postponed his retirement so that he could continue to torment the team. He wouldn't allow them to fundraise on school grounds, and they were often kicked off the sports field if another team wanted to practice, even when they had booked the field weeks in advance. The only reason they were back in the league season was Otto.

He and Wilhelm had broken into the school one night a week for 5 weeks using the janitors keys, and taken $100 each time from the school safe in Principal Austria's office. Wilhelm had hated himself for it, but Otto convinced him it was for the greater good of the whole school. Otto just had a way of getting what he wanted no matter the means, and Wilhelm could never betray him, no matter how morally opposed he was. The two boys put the money in the team funds box, and claimed they got their parents to donate it. Principal Austria never noticed the missing money, as their burglary took place during the end of last school year. Things were hectic and money was already being thrown around for prom and the senior retreat.

Wilhelm tried to read the expression of Principal Austria, concerned that their theft last spring had finally been discovered. The older man's pale blue eyes looked devoid of emotion, but that wasn't unusual. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, and his thumbs were twiddling almost happily. This was confusing for Wilhelm, since the crotchety old man was rarely happy.

"Congratulations on the game boys," He barked gruffly. Otto grunted, and Wilhelm mumbled something which resembled a thank you. "I do not only mean congratulations with the win. As you know, we are a private school and we depend on the tuition that you, the students, pay. This means we want a lot of enrolled students. We also want talented students, who will go to good colleges, and donate to us as successful adults." Wilhelm wanted to ask him to get to the point, but he didn't want to get in trouble.

"What's your point?" Otto blurted, clearly unable to restrain himself. Wilhelm half wanted to roll his eyes and half wanted to laugh. Principal Austria narrowed his eyes, but continued.

"My point is this, boys. When you play well, others notice. Parents want to send their football playing sons to play on this team. In fact, after tonight, three parents came up to me to inform me that their sons will be transferring into G. Ermany next week, and expect to be playing on varsity. They are sophomores from German Catholic High, and I am sure-"

"Wait a second," Otto interjected, looking at Coach Hungary for support. "That's not how it works. If you want to be on a team you have to tryout like everyone else. They can practice with us, and if they're good they can play next year, but I won't have a bunch of sophomores walking on to my team like little Catholic _princes_." Coach Hungary was silent, but looked to Principal Austria for a response. When he finally did respond, his voice was low and commanding.

"You will do what is necessary to make these parents happy."

"But Austria-"

"Thats _mister_ Austria to you young man. And you will make it work or lose your position as captain." Wilhelm could feel the fury radiating off of Otto, and decided to step in before it escalated further.

"Okay Mr. Austria, we got it. Message recieved, the new students will be welcome. Thank you for supporting the team, and have a good night." Principal Austria nodded curtly, and briskly walked away, Coach Hungary jogging behind him, his stubby legs struggling to keep up. Wilhelm looked at Otto, who looked like he might kill something.

"Dude, you gotta-"

"No! What the hell is up with that guy? He such an awful human being and coach never does anything about it and I just wanna-" Otto violently mimicked a stabbing motion, cursing loudly. Wilhelm lightly placed his hand on his friends shoulder, immediately feeling him go limp. With his shoulders slouched over and the anger in his green eyes replaced with defeat, Wilhelm felt anger flare up inside him. He really hated to see Otto unhappy, and he would have loved to pummel Principal Austria into the ground, but he tried to be positive.

"I don't think coach can do that much honestly. He's in a tough position. Plus, these new players might be good. If they can help us win states then we should welcome them. Francis High isn't even the best team we'll face if we get that far."

"Yeah I guess. Lets just go home."

Wilhelm mussed Otto's hair affectionately, and they headed back to the car.

* * *

On the drive home, Otto still seemed pretty annoyed, so Wilhelm played the only album which would without a doubt cheer him up. As soon as the piano started playing, Wilhelm looked to Otto, expecting some sort of elated cry, but to no avail. Otto just stared out the window, as motionless as ever. Wilhelm sighed softly, and went to turn it off; it High School Musical was only fun to listen to when Otto was into it. Before he could get to the power button Otto's hand shot out and stopped his. And then the singing started.

"It's hard to believe, that I couldn't see, you were always right beside me." Otto had a nice singing voice in Wilhelm's opinion, and even when he couldn't hit all the notes, he gave a commendable (and adorable) effort.

"Thought I was alone, with no one to hold, but you were always there beside me," Wilhem sang. Wilhelm usually ended up with Sharpay's part when they sung High School Musical, because Otto's raspy voice couldn't even get close to falsetto. Wilhelm really shouldn't have either, but he could at least reach a higher octave. Together they belted out the chorus of the timeless classic, and went through half the album by the time they pulled up to Otto's house.

Wilhelm realized Otto had never let go of his hand around the same time Otto did. He tried to draw his hand back, his face getting warm with embarrassment, but Otto just gripped his hand tighter. With a mischievous grin, Otto slowly raised Wilhelms bulky hand to his face, and gave it the most dramatic kiss possible.

"Thank you for the ride, my liege, King Wilhelm the first." Wilhelm chuckled as Otto finally gave his hand back.

"Yeah whatever dork. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bright and early?"

"Bright and early."

Otto grinned crookedly at Wilhelm one last time before exiting his Jeep. Wilhelm watched him jog up his front steps and into his house, noticing how tight his football pants were on his butt. Otto wasn't brawny like Wilhelm, but he was still toned. Wilhelm felt another pang in his chest as Otto closed the door behind him, leaving Wilhelm alone. _I gotta lay off the Chipotle,_ he told himself, rubbing his chest.


	3. Chapter 3: A Policy of Neutrality

Woody rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time as Ted gesticulated crudely at him from across the room. His hand motions had been getting more and more sexual throughout the past ten minutes, as their classmate, Felipina Hizon, presented her argument against the annexation of the Philippines. Woody had told Ted that he was not interested in her like that, but Ted claimed all those hours preparing for the in-class debate could only mean one thing—not wanting to get an A, but rather, wanting to "annex her territories." The metaphor was weak at best, and Woody had coolly ignored it at the time, but Ted's current level of obnoxiousness was becoming impossible to disregard. Thankfully, Ted's hip thrusting was interrupted, as Mr. McKinley called upon him.

"Theodore, if you would stop gyrating and begin your cross-examination."

The class' snickers died out quickly as Ted stood up slowly, a smirk creeping onto his face.

Woody was prepared for this. He had spent countless hours preparing with his group, and Ted probably had not thought about this assignment since Mr. McKinley gave it out two weeks ago, but the look on the stockier boy's face made him think maybe he had actually prepared something.

Ted opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Seemingly unfazed, he puffed out his chest, and tried to speak again, to no avail. An expression echoing sadness flickered briefly across his face, replaced instantly by a jubilant bearing of perfect teeth.

"Not today sir," Ted stated. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he then turned on his heels and sauntered out of the room. The door had barely swung shut behind him as Mr. McKinley continued, calling on another girl from Ted's group to do the cross examination.

Woody was relieved he wouldn't have to face Ted's intensity, but pitied him all the same; this episode was not going to help Ted's grades. Woody hadn't known him that long, and their relationship basically consisted of Ted antagonizing him, but he understood that this year had been difficult for the linebacker. Ted was the ideal American high school boy last year — handsome, popular, and athletic. He was the captain of the football team, and spent a lot of time volunteering with the local youth Wilderness Club. Ted had also always been an aggressive guy, and word on the street was he beat a Spanish exchange student up so bad he was put in the hospital. As a result, he got suspended half way through the football season and by the time he got back to school, he was too far behind in his schoolwork to graduate. This was his second attempt at senior year and though he had been allowed back on the football team, the role of captain was assumed by Woody. His former influence had diminished significantly; half the school was afraid of him, and the other half ignored him. Gone were the days where people scrambled to help him with homework, and it was unclear he would be able to pass senior year without that support. Even though he was an asshole most of the time, Woody still felt bad for him — albeit not badly enough to pick up the backpack Ted had left behind upon his exit.

Woody left the classroom, strolling right past the worn fabric sack Ted called a backpack, and went to the locker rooms to get ready for practice. He entered through the gray steel door into a white tiled corridor. As he turned the corner which led to the set of red and blue lockers, he saw Ted sitting on one of the wooden benches. His elbows were perched on his knees and his head hung heavily in his hands, gripping his light brown curls tightly.

"Dude, you good?" Woody hesitantly offered, not really wanting a heart to heart now or ever with his team mate. Ted's head snapped up quickly, and his back settled into its default "I- don't-care" posture.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured Woody with a forced smile. As much as Woody did not want to continue the conversation, he couldn't help himself from blurting out his thoughts.

"You could always go to the Student Center and ask for a tutor if you need it, but abandoning your group mid-debate is pretty messed up." There was a pause in which Woody could see Ted swallow back his annoyance, but he rambled on. "Also your backpack is still in McKinley's room." At this Ted grunted. With the same ease with which he walked out of the classroom earlier, Ted strolled out of the locker room, wordlessly.

"Okay, good talk," Woody mumbled sarcastically as the door closed behind his teammate.

* * *

It hadn't been a good day for Ted, or a good week really. He had stayed up late every night for the past five days preparing for todays debate. This was their first big assignment and he wanted to start the year out strong, but in class he blanked. It was incredibly frustrating. He had worked himself incredibly hard, and was too tired to actually perform adequately. Then on top of that he was disappointed in himself for leaving the classroom. Avoiding confrontation is not the Roosevelt way, but he already felt so much shame and anger having to redo senior year that the extra layers of embarrassment from his most recent failure were overwhelming.

The only one who truly understood was Mr. McKinley. Ted didn't generally divulge his personal life with anyone, but he and Mr. McKinley shared similar doctrines, and had bonded during Ted's semi-regular saturday detentions the previous year. Mr. McKinley was the only person who knew and understood what had actually happened the day he got suspended, and there was not a person in the school that Ted respected more. Which of course made his fluke in class today that much more unfortunate.

When Ted reentered the classroom, it was apparent that Mr. McKinley had been waiting for him. He leaned on the front of his desk, Ted's backpack visible on the floor behind his workspace. Ted walked around the horseshoe configuration of tables, approaching Mr. McKinley's desk cautiously.

"Excuse me sir, I left my backpack here earlier."

"Clearly." Mr. McKinley quipped good-naturedly. Ted took this as permission to go get it, since Mr. McKinley made no effort to hand it to him. With its familiar weight settled onto his shoulder, Ted turned to leave, but was stopped by Mr. McKinley.

"Look Ted," he began. "I know it's been hard for you this year, but it's not going to get easier."

"How inspiring," Ted retorted dryly.

"You know what I mean. Make whatever adjustments that need to be made, because you can't mess this year up too."

"What happened last year wasn't my fault." Mr. McKinley's demeanor softened, and Ted could tell he felt bad for him.

"I know that. But you have to move beyond what's happened, and make this year the best it can be," Mr. McKinley sighed and patted Ted's shoulder in a very supportive-teacher manner. "Just give me a write up of what you were going to present and I'll give you the grade. There won't be any more hand-outs though. I expect the best from you." Ted wasn't really a hugging type of guy, but he tried to express his gratitude through a hand shake.

"Thank you sir. I won't let you down again."

"Also I recommend you get a tutor. Theres a girl in my AP class, Nicole Ragua, who could help you a lot." Ted took the slip of paper Mr. McKinley handed him with her email address on it. He didn't want to accept anyone else's help by principle, but Mr. McKinley was right—he had to work hard if he wanted to get out of high school.

Ted left Mr. McKinley's room revitalized. He was going to have a great practice today, talk to Nicole tomorrow, and last years situation was just a small obstacle on his life journey. It was even a crisp fall day when he finally stepped outside for practice, Ted's favorite type of weather. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool, gold leaves periodically drifting down from the trees surrounding the field. The sun had just began to set behind the school, and pink and orange streaks extended across the sky. Ted's nature reverie was broken by the shrill shriek of a whistle, as practice began.

* * *

There was something gratifying about being able to smell yourself, or at least Ted thought. It was a sensory manifestation of all of his hard work, and it made him feel like he'd accomplished something significant. Post-practice, soaked in the glorious liquid, he and the team stood around Woody as he delivered what the team referred to as a "State of the Union Address." There was always one in the beginning of the season, in the middle, and at the end. Ted always hated giving these when he was captain, and as ex-captain he hated listening to them even more. He would have straight up ignored Woody, but his ears perked up when he heard "new league."

"Wait, sorry what was that about a new league?" Ted interrupted. Woody looked surprised by the interruption, or maybe surprised Ted was paying attention, but clarified anyway.

"They're splitting our previous league into two, the Allies and the Entente. But both of those leagues are really competitive, so I figure we might as well just stay in the Western league. I talked to a few other teams and they said they'd be down to join Western and keep that alive too, so—"

"But why aren't we entering in the competitive leagues?" It was a question, but Ted made it sound more like a statement.

"It would be foolish. We realistically aren't ready for that level of playing, and we won't be any better off if our players get hurt." As Woody spoke, he noted Ted's body language change from neutral to aggressive. The other players looked back and forth between the two, both anticipating and dreading a physical fight.

"How are we expected to get better if we're afraid to even compete on a higher level? Moments like this define a man, and I will not stand behind a captain who is too cowardly to—"

"Then you can sit." Woody spat, pointing his thumb toward the bench. Ted's face reddened, but he wasn't embarrassed; he was angry. He made a very conscious effort not to throw his shoulder into Woody's slim frame and end the argument right there. Through the sheer force of will he was able to stay put and not punch anything, but remained glowering at Woody, who cleared his throat and continued. The team seemed to let out a collective sigh as the tense moment passed.

"So yeah, our first non-scrimmage game is in two weeks, which I know is late, but that's just what was possible given our last minute league coordination. Meanwhile we have practice everyday, same was always. If there's no further questions we can call it a day." Woody waited a beat for any interjections, and finding none put his hand out in front of him, palm facing the ground. The rest of the team piled their hands on top of his, and after a quick countdown from three, "Eagles" echoed out from the center of the football field.

As they headed back to the locker rooms, Woody had already moved on from thinking about football to thinking about homework. Ted, however, contemplated how to convince the team to get into the more competitive leagues. He knew it was the right thing to do, and he just had to make everyone else see that. Luckily, he had an idea.


End file.
